Solphurath

Owlcat Journal

Trinkets

Embossed with a colorful owlcat, this journal is filled with the hopes, dreams, and cookie recipes of a young dragon.

24

It is safe to say my latest encounter with Solphurath could have gone better. Much better, in fact. As I write, the stench of my own charred scales makes my head drum with self pity. Though equally, it could have gone worse.

Maybe, in those moments, I would have prayed for it to have taken that route. The agony is still fresh in my mind. From the heat of his raging breath, my hide became instantly set ablaze - each individual spike of fire spearing my flesh, as if ordered directly by the flamecaller. I may as well have been in the great furnace for all I know, for in the inferno, my armour had started to liquify. Molten metal seeped far beneath the contours of my scales, fusing with my flesh in an irreversible alloy. It was seconds before I became trapped in my own defences; a prisoner of my pride.

It has been weeks since this encounter. And all that time I have replayed this experience, over and over. The fires of the ashfall, while eradicated from my scales, linger as embers in the fabric of my mind. Ganglia says that I have developed severe "pyrophobia" from just this encounter alone, and I have developed a habit of flinching at even the most pathetic of candles. It is pitiful what I have become.

But I don't resent Solphurath. In fact, I resent myself.

Zygygora has granted us so much power, and a chance to survive after the fall of Sornieth. It is up to us to unite dragonkind - to spread word of the calamity and save more souls. Yet, we have come to take hostages in exchange for resources meaningless to us. Solphurath's imprisonment was unnecessary. It was because of my persistence that he endured those cold iron walls; the furthest thing from his home for all that time. All because I sought the eternal fire; a substance which I fear now more than death itself.